Jamespotter and thevaultofdestinies 27 страница

"Really?" James asked, curious. "Hogwarts is full of them. One of them used to be our History teacher. Why aren't there any here?"

Wentworth shrugged where he sat by the door in an old high-backed easy chair. "Nobody knows. Maybe because of the Timelock. Maybe ghosts just can't keep up with the way the campus roams all over the centuries every day."

"But thereused to be ghosts," Gobbins countered. "A long time ago. I've heard stories about them. Percival Pepperpock was one of 'em even. And that old janitor, Freddie something or other. He was always trying to scare people, but he insisted on wearing this old stripey sweater and fedora hat, which is pretty hard to pull off even if youaren't trying to be all spooky."

"So what happened to all the ghosts then?" Ralph asked.

Jazmine shook her head. "Like Went said, nobody knows for sure. Maybe they just don't make ghosts like they used to, eh?"

Mukthatch grunted and barked, anxious to get on with the lesson.

Things went well enough and James' initial concerns began to wear off. The third time the group met, however, Norrick appeared in the attic common room, having heard about the Clutch magic practices that were secretly taking place there. Grudgingly, James allowed him to stay, so long as he kept the lessons a secret. By the next week, however, two more members of the team had appeared on the long couch beneath the room's single window, grinning eagerly, their wands in hands.

"I didn't tell anyone!" Norrick said defensively as James glared at him. "It's all over the house now. You can't keep secrets very long around here. I even heard Heckle and Jeckle arguing about it downstairs. Heckle thinks we should be learning some tandem spells, by the way, just to mix it up a little."

James sighed. The truth was that he didn't really mind. Team Bigfoot's Clutch magic was coming along slowly but surely, even if it was fairly standard stuff. James sensed that Professor Wood was still somewhat uncomfortable with it, but he had not yet said anything about it. Perhaps this was because the team had not yet won a match, even though the final scores were growing increasingly close. The last match, in fact, had ended in a tie. James had been disappointed to learn that, according to the rules of Clutchcudgel, a tie game translated to a win for whatever team had had thebest record coming into the match, thus giving Team Pixie a technical victory. It had been a moral win for the Bigfoots, nonetheless, and there had been raucous celebration in the locker cellar following the match.

As the team carried their good cheer with them back to Apollo Mansion, James recalled his dad's stories about Quidditch at Hogwarts and felt, for the first time, a deep sense of pride that he was living up to his father's image. In fact, according to the old stories, Oliver Wood himselfhad been quite the formidable player and had been madly passionate about winning. Perhaps Wood's reluctance to use offensive and defensive magic—whether or not it was rooted in his insecurities about his deceased parents and their disapproval of his participation in the Battle of Hogwarts—was held in check by his much older love of sporting victory. James hoped so. He still had more things he wanted to try.

"All right, you lot," he said, now speaking to slightly more than half of the entire Bigfoot Clutch team, crammed uncomfortably into the attic common room. "That's everything I know. Time for us to get a little creative. Your homework over the weekend is to research something new, something that the other teams will never expect us to know, and come back Monday ready to teach it to the rest of us. Got it?"

There was a rumble of eager excitement throughout the cramped space. Bump lurked by the bookcase with a large encyclopedia in his wispy hand, as if he couldn't choose who to throw it at.

Across the campus, the leaves had all finally drifted from the trees, carpeting the lawns with orange and yellow. The trees scratched their bare branches at the sky as winter settled slowly over the campus, bringing gusty winds and an increasing chill. James broke out his heavy cloak and began wearing it to classes, buttoned dutifully beneath his chin, its stiff collar sticking up around his ears.

"Very dashing," Lucy had said on one grey day, smiling crookedly at her cousin as they made their way toward Administration Hall for lunch. "You'd fit right in at Vampire House. Cloaks are all the rage this year."

"Along with plastic fangs and black hair dye," Albus grumped next to her, walking with his hands stuffed into his blazer pockets.

Lucy clucked her tongue. "You're just mad because you lost the Quidditch tournament to us."

"The tourney's not over yet," Albus countered stridently. "AndI'm rooting for Zane and his Zombies to beat you all in the final!"

Lucy shrugged as if she didn't care. "May the best team win, of course."

Albus bristled but didn't pursue it any further. James knew that his brother's experiences in Werewolf House were mixed and this was contributing to his natural moodiness. Sometimes, Albus spoke very highly and proudly of life in Ares Mansion. Other times, he seemed sullen and dejected, slinking over to sit with James, Zane, and Ralph in the corner booth at the Kite and Key, rather than joining the long table near the fireplace where the rest of the Werewolves often gathered. Once or twice, James tried to question Albus about his new mates, but Albus always replied defensively, claiming that nothing was wrong, he loved his house, and couldn't a bloke come and sit by his brother every now and then without being grilled about his personal life? Eventually, James gave up asking about it.

Petra still appeared regularly in Professor Baruti's Potion-Making class and James was glad to see that she generally seemed to be in good spirits. Apparently, Izzy was settling in well at the small campus grade school, which was mostly attended by children of other teachers and administrators. The two of them lived in a small apartment on the top floor of one of the houses on Faculty Row. James saw them occasionally at dinner in the cafeteria and sat with them whenever he did.

Strangely, those were the times when he felt the most homesick for Hogwarts, even more so than when he talked to Rose, Scorpius, and the rest via the Shard. Sitting with Petra and Izzy, Ralph, and Zane, laughing and talking, reminded him almost painfully of his days in the Great Hall and the Gryffindor common room. Sometimes, on these occasions, he felt the strangest feeling of loss and worry, as if he might never again return to those halls, might never again see all those familiar people and places. It was silly, of course. He'd be returning soon enough. Still, the feeling lingered, and sometimes, especially late at night, he'd find himself thinking of his last conversation with Professor Trelawney. He'd recall her distant, haunted eyes, and her frightening words:The fateshave aligned. Night will fall, and from it, there will be no dawn…

Occasionally, James saw his mum and dad and sister Lily. They came to some of his Clutchcudgel matches, although not as many as they wanted to, according to his father. Harry Potter's work was becoming more and more hectic, he said, and James could see it in both of his parents' faces. There was a quiet tension there, and an unspoken worry. No outside newspapers made their way onto the campus of Alma Aleron, but James sensed that things were not at all well in the outside world.

"Don't you worry about it," Harry told him when James asked about it. He smiled at his son, but James could tell that it was a thin smile, put on mostly for his benefit. "You just keep at your schoolwork and your Clutchcudgel. Keep an eye on your brother too. Your mother and I are a little worried about him and those new friends of his in Werewolf House."

James shrugged and nodded. His dad was masking his larger worries with concerns about how Al might be fitting in with his fellow Werewolves. It was rather unsettling, but James determined not to make it his problem. He had done that enough over the last two years.

"I've heard of this Professor Magnussen bloke," James told Ralph and Zane the following weekend, walking along the cold flagstone footpath and kicking piles of dead leaves. "Back during our first year. Remember when I told you about sneaking out with the Invisibility Cloak and following my dad and Chancellor Franklyn around during their midnight meeting? Franklyn said something about Magnussen, made it sound like he was a real trouble maker. Compared him to that Umbridge witch that Dad told us about from back in his own day."

"That's pretty bad," Ralph considered, frowning slightly. "I remember those stories."

"But Magnussen's the key to the whole thing!" Zane insisted. "He's the one that found the key to the Nexus Curtain. We could look him up in the Archive, maybe figure out how he did it! If we did that, then maybe we could follow him through into the place between the worlds and find whoever it was that attacked the Vault of Destinies!" Zane's eyes boggled with excitement, but James sighed.

"You're a complete nutter," he said dourly. "We're done with that kind of thing, all right? Ralph and me, we got it all out of our system last year, chasing down that horrible Gatekeeper thing. Rose too. If she was here, she'd probably cuff you on the ear even for bringing it up."

"Hah," Zane replied, unperturbed. "I've spoken to Rose about it already through the Shard. She thinks it's worth checking out at least. So there."

Ralph spoke up uncertainly. "She says we should just tell James' dad about it and let him look into it. It's his job, after all."

"Mr. Potter's got his hands plenty full already," Zane answered breezily. "I've heard he's getting loads of flack from the local authorities, especially the Magical Integration Bureau. They're making things pretty tough for him, keeping him out of the loop."

"What?" James exclaimed angrily. "Where'd you hear that?"

"I eavesdropped on your dad and Chancellor Franklyn in the Kite and Key after Al's last Quidditch match. Some of us don't need any Invisibiliy Cloaks to pull that off."

James was rankled. "But why would the local authorities shut him out? He was sent here tohelp them, wasn't he?"

"Apparently they're suspicious of him," Zane replied. "Remember, here in the States, the Progressive Element is all over the place. Noteveryone believes all that drivel about how Voldy was just a revolutionary thinker and a champion of the people, put down by the magical ruling powers of the day, but enough idiotsdo believe it that it makes trouble for people like your dad. They think he himself might even be behind some of that W.U.L.F. stuff. Apparently, they questioned him about the disappearance of that Muggle politician and the Chrysler Building. They even think he might have been in on the attack on the Vault of Destinies, especially since the missing thread managed to vanish without a trace and they've had no luck tracking it down, even though it'd leave a magical trail a mile wide. They think that your dad hasn't found the thread yet because maybe he doesn't reallyintend to. Like maybe he's covering for his own cronies or something."

"That's idiotic!" James fumed. "He's here to rout out the gang that did that stuff and stick them all in Azkaban!"

Ralph was thoughtful. "Well," he said slowly, "I'm not saying they're right, of course, but if hewas involved with a group like the W.U.L.F., it would probably be the perfect cover for him to be on the team that was supposedly meant to investigate them. If you think about it from the Progressive Element point of view, that is."

Zane was impressed. "All that time you spent on Corsica's debate team really sunk in, didn't it, Ralphinator? You can think just like them when you need to."

"That's idiotic," James said again, kicking at a particularly large pile of leaves.

"The Progressive Element is idiotic," Zane replied. "Once you believe in that kind of stuff, other stupid stuff becomes a lot easier to swallow."

"But why would they think my dad would ever join such a bunch of awful people?"

"Ah," Zane said, smiling ruefully. "That's an easy one. A lot of Americans think that the W.U.L.F. is just a puppet organization, run by the Ministry of Magic and, specifically, the Auror Department itself. They think that it's just a big scare tactic, meant to keep people afraid and willing to keep living with the old laws of Muggle-magical separation and all that."

Ralph shook his head. "They must think people like James' dad are a bunch of really twisted sneaks then."

Zane nodded.

The three boys stopped as they neared the Octosphere. The big black orb floated in its watery bed, which was now pasted with dead leaves. A dull, nearly inaudible rumble came from the slowly revolving stone.

"According to legend, Professor Magnussen invented this thing," Zane commented, resting his foot on the low stone wall that surrounded the pool. "Did you know that?"

"How do you invent a big black ball?" Ralph asked quizzically.

"It's not just a big black ball, you knucklehead," Zane replied. "It's an answer machine. You ask it any question you want and it'll tell you the answer."

"That's some pretty serious magic," James admitted grudgingly. "Are the answers always right?"

"Always," Zane nodded. "But they're never helpful. That's probably why it's right out here in the open, for anyone to use. If the answers were useful, this thing would probably be the most valuable tool in the whole magical world. You can bet that that's what old Professor Magnussen meant for it to be, if the legends about him are true."

"Why aren't the answers useful?" Ralph asked, peering closely at the slowly revolving stone sphere.

Zane shrugged. "It's all quantum. Magnussen was President of Igor House, a century or so ago, and he was apparently a super genius about technomancy. He was a big believer in this thing called the Wizard's Grand Unification something or other."

"Yeah," James said, warming to the subject. "Franklyn talked about that when he took us on the tour of the Archive. It's called the Wizard's Grand Unification Theory. He says that people used to believe that if you could measure everything everywhere, then you'd be able to predict thefuture. And if you could predict the future, then basically…"

"You could control it," Zane finished. "Yeah, that's how I heard it too. Apparently, Magnussen was crazy about it. He spent his whole life refining the theory, trying to make it work. The legend is that he used some really horrible methods, although nobody seems to know what they were, exactly. At any rate, this is one of the things he invented along the way. It uses the Grand Unification whatsit to tell you the answer to your question. There was some big flaw in the design, though, so that while the answer you get is technically right, it's almost always completely useless. Watch."

Zane turned to the slowly revolving stone orb. In a loud, carefully enunciated voice, he said, "Oh great mystical Octosphere, will Zombie House win this year's Quidditch tournament?"

James and Ralph leaned forward over the low wall that surrounded the pool, watching the sphere. After a few seconds, the sphere settled to a stop, and something seemed to move within it. Blurry white shapes swam up from the inky depths of the orb, solidifying until they reached the surface and became words. The three boys stared at them thoughtfully. They read:

'AS THE MOONS OF KTHULL ALIGN WITH THE GREAT HORN OF IPSUS'

After a moment, Ralph asked, "So is that a yes… or a no?"

"Nobody knows," Zane said brightly. "That's the point. My guess is that Kthull is a planet in some unknown galaxy. Ipsus is probably a constellation or something. Or maybe it's even a real beast with a real-life horn. Either way, it's impossible for us to know whether or not some crazy planet's moons line up with it, so even though the answer is correct, it's still completely useless to us."

Ralph asked, "So how do you know it's correct then?" James thought it was a very reasonable question.

Zane nodded. "Watch this." He turned again to the Octosphere. "Hey you, who won last week's Clutch match between Zombie House and the Igors?"

James and Ralph watched as the letters faded from the Octosphere's surface and it began to turn again, rumbling faintly.

"You don't really have to say the 'oh great mystical Octosphere' part," Zane admitted as they waited. "I just thought it would sound more, you know, impressive that way."

In the center of the pool, the black orb stopped turning again. Two words faded up from its depths.

ZOMBIE HOUSE

"See?" Zane said, gesturing toward the floating orb. "If it's an answer you already know, then it just gives it to you straight up. And it's always right."

"I see what you mean," Ralph frowned. "That's not very helpful at all."

Zane nodded. "I hear it drove Professor Magnussen crazy trying to figure out what the problem was with it. They say that's what drove him to seek out and open the Nexus Curtain, although no one knows why. Maybe if we can retrace his steps, we can find the answer to that mystery too!"

"No way," James said resolutely, sighing. "Mum was right. We've got enough on our hands, what with school, Clutch, and everything else. Whoever this Magnussen was, if there's anything there to find out, I bet my dad's already working on it. He'll find this Nexus Curtain and chase down whoever attacked the Vault of Destinies. You watch."

Zane seemed reluctant to let the issue go, but he didn't say anything more about it that afternoon or even the rest of the weekend.

On Monday morning, Professor Bunyan took the class up to the museum at the top of the Tower of Art, where he showed them portraits of many of the historical figures they'd been studying. Crouching under the museum's archways, the giant professor indicated paintings of famed American battles, showing how the secret magical contingent of the United States army, led by an American wizard named Quenton Harrow, had assisted in the fight. As James passed a portrait of General George Washington, he commented to Ralph that it was a shame the portrait couldn't talk.

"Who says I can't talk?" the portrait asked, affronted.

James, Zane, and Ralph spun around, surprised. Zane answered first. "But… you were a Muggle, right?"

"What, pray tell, is a Muggle, young man?" Washington asked sternly.

"Er," James said, stammering. "Someone who's not magical? How can you not…?" he gestured toward the portrait's gilt frame. "You're a talking painting!"

"And what of it?" Washington responded, raising his chin.

Ralph shook his head. "I'm confused."

Just then, Professor Bunyan placed one of his huge hands around the boys' shoulders, leading them away from the portrait.

"We try not to talk to the portraits of the Muggle historical figures," he said quietly. "Someone thought it'd be a good idea to magically preserve them for posterity, but being only vaguely aware of the magical world, many of them find the experience a bit… hinky."

James nodded, glancing back at the portrait of Washington. The president watched him stoically. James knew the figure was only paint on canvas, but he felt a little sorry for him nonetheless. He determined to come back later and keep the painting company despite Professor Bunyan's words.

That evening, James, Zane, and Ralph entered the cafeteria to find that it had been decorated for Halloween. Floating over the long tables were dozens of jack-o'-lanterns, grinning, leering, and occasionally swooping down to chomp a slice of pizza from an unsuspecting diner's hand. The skeleton from Mother Newt's Wiz Home Ec classroom had been commandeered, hexed a rather ghastly green, and installed near the main entrance, where it distributed trays to the students as they lined up for dinner. Professor Cloverhoof, the faun President of Zombie House, stood in the back of the room, directing a pair of girls who were busily hanging orange bunting from the low ceiling.

"Hi Professor!" Zane called as the three boys sat down beneath the floating pumpkins. "How's everything coming along for the costume ball?"

"Swimmingly," Cloverhoof answered distractedly. "A bit higher, Miss Worrel. There's nothing quite so depressing as crooked bunting. There we go."

"The Jersey Devil is taking his duties very seriously this year," Zane said in a stage whisper, turning back to James and Ralph. "He's chair of the committee for this year's Halloween Ball. Last year, Mother Newt did it, and we all about drowned in doilies and lace."

Ralph glanced up at a floating jack-o'-lantern that seemed to be eyeing his plate. "They have the costume ball in the cafeteria?"

Zane shook his head. "No, no, this is just where they have all the drinks and refreshments. It's always quite a spread. The actual dance takes place upstairs in the main ballroom. It's huge, with chandeliers the size of the Wocket and a big stage at one end. Don't tell anybody else," he added, leaning forward secretively, "but we got Rig Mortis and the Stifftones to play the show! Should be killer!"

"I've never heard of them," James said, rolling a slice of pizza and biting off the end.

"Yeah," Ralph added, "are they anything like The Boggart Brothers? I like them a lot."

"No," Zane answered curtly, clearly annoyed. "The Stifftones are only like the most popular band on American wizarding wireless. You two make me want to cry, I swear."

"I've heard of them," a girl's voice said. James glanced aside and saw Izzy plopping down next to Zane, clunking her tray onto the table in front of her. "I like them. 'Hex on My Heart' is my favorite song right now."

"Finally, somebody with some class," Zane sighed.

"How are you doing, Iz?" James asked the younger girl.

"We're good," Izzy answered, nodding toward Petra, who was approaching with her own tray. "My teacher says I'm already reading at a fourth-grade level, whatever that means. It's very good, apparently, considering I'd never gone to school before."

Zane nearly choked on a piece of crust. "You never went to school? Are you serious? Why not?"

"My mother," Izzy answered stoically. "She didn't think I was smart enough for it. She said it would be a waste of time for me and everyone else."

Petra settled in next to James. "Tell them what Mrs. Quandary told you today, Iz," she prodded.

Izzy smiled crookedly. "I get to play the Snow Princess in this year's Christmas show."

"Cool!" Zane grinned enthusiastically. "You got your wings and halo all picked out yet?"

"We have plenty of time for that," Petra said, beaming down at her sister. "She's just getting used to her wand, for now."

"Her wand?" James blinked. "But… Izzy's not… er."

"How are things in Bigfoot House?" Petra asked, glancing aside at James and smiling.

"James is teaching magic to the Bigfoot Clutch team," Ralph interjected proudly. "Looks like the Bigfoots might win a match for the first time in… I don't know. Ever, maybe."

James meant to downplay this detail, but then he noticed the way Petra looked at him, obviously impressed.

"That's excellent, James," she said, nudging him. "I've noticed how Team Bigfoot's been playing lately. Much more confident than when the season first started. Are you really responsible for that?"

James shrugged and looked away, his face reddening. "Well… you know. I… yeah. It's nothing, really."

"'Nothing,' he says," Zane grinned. "James took that team from zero to hero in no time flat."

"We haven't even won a match yet," James said, trying to suppress a smile of pride. "But we did have one tie game."

"You watch," Zane insisted, ignoring James' protests. "My boy's going places. Maybe even pro! There was a guy last year, a Werewolf named Stubb, who got drafted by the Hoboken Hobgoblins. I bet James is even better than he was!"

"Stop!" James exclaimed, his cheeks burning. "Look, it's nothing, all right? I just taught them a few basic spells, that's all. For some reason, Wood wasn't coaching anything by way of a magic game. We're just catching up to everyone else now."

"He's so humble, isn't he?" Zane said mistily, nodding toward Petra. "Why, it breaks my heart. It really does."

James rolled his eyes.

Fifteen minutes later, the five of them made their way toward the cafeteria doors, talking excitedly about the upcoming Halloween Ball, and James was gearing himself up for something. He felt wound so tight that he thought everyone else must see it, as if he was physically vibrating. There was a knot of people near the door, milling around some unseen curiosity, and James touched Petra's elbow as they stopped to watch.

"Petra," he said, trying not to blush, "I was wondering…"

She turned back to him and brushed her hair out of her face with her hand. "Yes?"

"Er," he began, furious at himself for how awkward he sounded. He took a deep breath. "You know the costume ball that's coming up?"

She smiled at him wryly. "The one we were talking about just now? Sure. What about it?"

James ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Well, I know you're not really a student, like, but we've known each other for some time now, and… I thought maybe we could—"

The crowd near the doorway parted at that moment and somebody backed into Petra, bumping her.

"Make room, everyone," a voice announced. It was Professor Cloverhoof, his hands raised in the air.

James took another step toward Petra, trying to catch her attention again. "Anyway, I was just thinking, maybe you and me could—"

"Stand aside, Mr. Potter," Cloverhoof said, touching James on the shoulder. James glanced up, annoyed, and then sidled up next to Petra once more.

"Go on, James," Petra said, smiling slightly, her eyes twinkling. "I'm listening."

Дата добавления: 2015-09-29